Wendra

This is the later part of a log supplied by sevuuth.



Wendra slips in quietly, which is par for the course for her these days. Dulcieth's eyes are also whirling a fast red-orange, and Wendra quickly begins feeding her chunks of the meat along with the mantra "Chew. Chew. Chew."

L'ten only refocuses on S'dric once the rag's pulled from his hand, slow surprise crossing his face. How'd that get there? "Yes, sir," he offers again, glances back at Sevuuth and steadfastly back toward the barracks, folding his arms over his chest. The small brown chews happily, one foot coming up to brush at his mouth where a bit of meat's gotten stuck. After a moment Len notices Wendra and her green; his chin comes up and he turns bodily away, this time finding the lake to look blankly at. "See?" he mutters to no one, "You're getting fed."

S'dric sticks the rag through his belt and nods at Wendra's approach. "Good day, Weyrling," he greets her then eyes her expectantly, but his gaze shifts back to Len, backing away and then crooks a finger at him. "Back on duty, L'ten. I was just checking on him. It's the two of you together, not me and him."

Wendra says quietly "Good day, Wingleader." She seems unsurprised at L'ten's reaction, and in fact resigned to it. She continues feeding her green in a mechanical fashion, looking any place but her dragon.

Obstinately Len says, "He can eat out of the bucket," though he softens enough to glance down at Sevuuth and knock the thing out of its snowy cradle and onto its side. "Thank you, sir." After a moment he adds another salute, though his jaw remains set.

"If he's able to, then he may," S'dric notes mildly then shifts his gaze over to Wendra. "You forgot to salute," he reminds her, perhaps being patient today. The bronzerider tilts a look over his shoulder at Gedreth and nods once. "What duties has the Weyrlingmaster assigned for today?"

Wendra is still quiet as she says "I'm sorry, sir. Dulcieth was starving." Having some experience watching other Weyrlings, she adds with a hint of humor, "Or so she would have me believe." She wipes her hand on her own rag, stands up, and salutes.

Sevuuth can, indeed, eat out of the bucket - he darts in and back out again with his prey caught in his jaws, happily mumbling around each dripping mouthful. Len glances back as the greenrider's chided and purses his lips dismissively. After a second he nudges the bucket again with one toe, pushing it a bit farther into a snowy cradle, then resumes scowling at the lake.

"You have two hands," S'dric points out to Wendra, with a hint of dry humor in his voice. "How is she doing, by the by?" The Wingleader's tone reverts to pleasantry as the immediate need to intervene grows more distant. L'ten's expression and distance are note by a simple quirk of one brow as the Wingleader retreats back to Gedreth a pace or two and resumes oiling.

Wendra looks down at her tiny companion and manages a fond smile. "She's doing well -- it's hard to believe how large she'll be someday. Of course, given how much she eats, maybe it's not so hard." Dulcieth snorts at that, then nudges Wendra for more food, which the Weyrling supplies.

L'ten, despite the body language that screams, 'I'm not here!!' hunkers down into the snow beside Sevuuth's bucket. He holds the rolling thing steady while the brown squeals and throws himself at the meat, small wings flapping wildly. A mumble floats up, incoherent save for a single disgruntled word: "Girls."

"Good to hear it," replies S'dric pleasantly enough and casts a brief eye at Dulcieth. "She is quite petite. Probably be a very nimble flyer," he opines. His head swings back around, gaze fixing on L'ten. "What's that, Weyrling?"

To nearby dragons, Sevuuth sweeps his sister into his sending of thunder-hooved beasts galloping away while he, Sevuuth, magically the same size, pursues. It's part and parcel of his happiness at eating, though his true prey doesn't move enticingly, nor squeal so loudly. Or at all.

L'ten's shoulders hunch when S'dric calls him out, but he regains his feet and turns to face the other man. Clearly, though with no edge of vindictiveness, "I said, sir, that I wasn't surprised she forgot to salute. Girls like her don't belong in the barracks."

Wendra smiles at the compliment, reaching out to scritch Dulcieth's eyeridge. Since she is so small, it doesn't take much to fill her up, and now her eyes are whirling a placid blue-green. She gives a quiet croon and leans into the scritch.

"So ... you'd like to take that up with Dulcieth, would you?" S'dric says with humor, eyes slanting Wendra's way for her reaction. "There's a simple rule here really, 'the dragon always knows'," the Wingleader muses to the skies.

Wendra continues studiously scritching Dulcieth, swallowing once or twice as she comes up with answers and is unable to choke them out. S'dric's answer draws out a grateful smile, however, and Dulcieth nuzzles her Weyrling and warbles reproachfully at L'ten.

L'ten's eyes don't slide Wendra's way, not once. "I'm sorry she couldn't find a boy," he answers, staring stolidly over S'dric's shoulder. "She'd've been happier." Dulcieth? Wendra? Both? "It's hard enough; they're not cut out for this." Not that he's exactly a poster boy for 'adjusting well'.

"And you're qualified to make that decision, are you?" S'dric questions L'ten further, voice back to that flat softness. "I suppose this means you don't think you need to listen to your Weyrlingmaster? Is that why you're having so much trouble grasping the basic concepts of being a rider?" The bronzerider asks all this very casually, while he oils Gedreth, only looking towards L'ten maybe every other word.

Wendra's fists clench, but all this accomplishes is another head butt from Dulcieth. Relaxing slightly, she begins oiling the little green, unconsciously mimicking S'dric's gestures as she does so.

Sevuuth burps - so inelegant - and sinks down half inside the bucket to chew his latest capture, both eyes and jaws working more slowly. Len says, "I," and stops, flushing. His hands slip free from their knot to drop at his sides, his fists balled too. Finally, stiffly, "If you say so, sir. You asked for my opinion."

"Actually, that's not what I said at all," S'dric points out matter-of-factly. "Dulcieth chose Wendra for a reason just as Sevuuth chose you for a reason and Gedreth, me. The dragon always knows." He echoes that and runs a hand over Gedreth's headknobs fondly, then focuses on L'ten and his voice softens a little. "I hate to throw it at you both, but it's a numbers game. There's no margin for error here. The Weyr needs /three hundred/ more dragons to be at full strength. Three hundred. So. Girl. Boy. Gold, bronze, brown, blue or green. It doesn't matter. We all have to be fighting fit." His eyes seek out L'ten's, sympathy on his face now. "We all need to be up there to prevent more Moss Valleys from happening."

Wendra nods respectfully as she finishes oiling Dulcieth, then asks "I'd heard rumors that the greens ridden by females would ride in the lower wings, or even where the queen's wing would be. Is there any foundation in that, sir?"

L'ten blinks at S'dric when the bronzerider lays it out like that. "Then why wasn't there a gold?" he asks after a few seconds, his eyes drifting down to where Sevuuth's dozing in the bucket before snapping back. "If it's as bad as you say, sir..." Wendra's question has him snorting, and he tosses a derisive look over her shoulder at her. "/Queen's/ wing? Don't be s... daft. There's not enough queens for a wing, and anyway, you just heard him. They're too precious to be up there."

"Likely because Rielth and Ashayath were proddy at the same time. We can't know now, but perhaps Rielth was carrying a gold egg," S'dric explains, giving Gedreth a final swipe and coming around to lean against one bronze shoulder. "Unfortunately, she was lost Between along with her rider Breide and the eggs she carried, unclutched." His eyes flick over to Wendra and then he shakes his head. "The present Weyrleader does not limit female riders to low flying wings. As for a Queen's wing, I suggest you address that question to our two goldriders. /Traditionally/, such a wing is led by the goldriders, with flamethrowers and the wing is made up of injured or older riders no longer able to fly in the upper wings."

Wendra acknowledges with a nod and a neutral expression. "Thank you, sir. I suppose I should worry more about being in a wing after she's grown a bit, too." Dulcieth is, in the manner of children everywhere, fighting sleep nobly but losing the battle.

L'ten echoes, "Thank you, sir," a heartbeat after Wendra. For just a second he looks regretful at the mention of E'sere, but that quickly disappears under confusion as he considers Sevuuth. "Sir? Do I have to wait for him to wake up before I can go back to the barracks?"

"It's not a problem to ask the question, Weyrling," S'dric addresses Wendra straightforwardly, "but yes, for now I'd suggest focusing on what's important for these very young dragons: food, sleep, oil and getting as much of the first two around your duties as possible." L'ten draws the Wingleader's gaze again and he clears his throat. "Yes. You do. He's too young to be left alone. He'll wake up scared without you. You might want to pull his head out of the bucket as well, maybe cushion it with something."

Wendra hears S'dric's answer to L'ten and props Dulcieth up. "I'd better get her back to the barracks before sleep wins."

Wendra returns a few minutes later, this time remembering to salute S'dric. Perhaps needlessly she says "She's sleeping."

L'ten, resigned, simply nods. "Yes, sir. C'mon you." Kneeling, he puts one hand on the bucket and one on the brown and pulls the two apart, which elicits a sleepy grunt of displeasure from the latter. He stands and folds his arms again; perhaps an attentive set of eyes would notice him nudging the toe of his boot under Sevuuth's head, and Sevuuth happily drooping over it.

The salute, S'dric returns with a little nod of acknowledgement as well. L'ten's actions, S'dric takes in sidelong and he might just be quirking a little grin as that boot nudges under the brown's head. "Buckets really don't make good pillows," he observes, deadpan.

Wendra says, "I'll take your word for it." Oddly enough, she seems more at ease now that Dulcieth is nowhere to be seen.

L'ten's chin juts a little, but what he says is, "They can fall asleep anywhere. These days seems like I can, too. Don't know if it'll be day or night any time I go outside."

"It's because the bond's really close right now," S'dric notes, one brow cocked. He might just be taking mental notes on all the things that Adria, Cr'pel and Geneve /haven't/ told the weyrlings yet. "That'll ease a bit as they grow and you'll get some independence back. Right now though... just have to take care of them and yourself as best you can."

"How long?" L'ten would really like to know. "They say 'not long', but is that another week? A month? I saw someone fall asleep /in/ his food this morning, and nobody treated it like it was anything strange."

Wendra listens curiously, not contributing any further questions to the Wingleader.

"Some see some improvement as early as a month in, generally speaking, two to three months," S'dric explains, working at a bit of clinging oil on the back of his hand and sneaks a peek up at silent Wendra. "You'll see stranger and do harder things before you get tapped."

Wendra says, "I suppose this is more a question for weyrlingmaster Geneve, but do you know if it will ever feel right? Impressing the wrong color and all that?"

L'ten scrubs a hand across his face which only makes the bags under his eyes all that more prominent. He opens his mouth to say something but Wendra gets there first, so the brownrider only smirks, tiredly, and with another shift of his shoulders, awaits S'dric's answer.

"Actually, think about that for a minute. Wouldn't you think it more appropriate for all female dragons to Impress to women, if it's true of gold dragons?" S'dric asks this question as a rhetorical. "Or is it simply, that only men are suited for a life of battle?" He's not given his own take in all of this, but poses it as something for the two to think through themselves.

Wendra struggles with the question for a few minutes. "It seems like it would make sense for women to impress greens too, I guess. But it's always been men who have, up until recently. It just seems to go against everything I grew up knowing."

L'ten says, "If they were supposed to Impress to girls, they would've before this." He frees one hand to gesture vaguely at the lake. "It would've been in the records, yeah?"

"What if there weren't any girls presented for them to Impress?" S'dric, keeping on with the rhetoricals. "I believe it is actually, if you look back far enough. It's very hard to read a lot of the oldest hides though and most of Benden's were lost when the Weyr was closed, that's a good question for our Harper though."

Wendra says, "I think I heard Wingsecond L'dor saying that some records from his time had been.. lost. The way he said it, it seems he meant "Destroyed"."

"Well, why would there be?" L'ten starts, quiets to let Wendra finish. He shoots her a patronizing, pursed-lips smirk and says, "He's a bluerider." Whatever that means. Turning back to S'dric he finishes, "If they're supposed to Impress to girls, then why didn't they? Plenty of girls out there, only three now. Out of what, seventeen, right?"

"We haven't actually been Searching, all that much," S'dric explains with a another wry grin. "I'm interested to see what might happen if we actually go out to Search in full force. We've been drawing on the lower caverns here a lot, it's possible the dragons are simply not finding what they want across the board from the Candidates presented." He tips a look over at Wendra and nods. "Records are spotty at best, though L'dor does say that many women Impressed to green dragons at Connell. His sister for instance."

Wendra nods. "I think I remember something like that -- and how they made Dragonhealing into a craft, not just something goldriders do."

L'ten may not know what they're talking about, but that's not going to stop him from dismissing it entirely. Paying absolutely no mind to the baby brown sleeping on his foot he says, "If the greens wanted girls, they had a whole handful they bypassed to get to the men."

"Beleve what you will L'ten," S'dric says with an easy smile. "But I doubt that Dulcieth or Chiyath will tell you they feel they made a mistake. Chat with Geneve sometime, or Sevuuth with Pendarith for that matter and get his take on things. Dragons after all, have their own very definite opinions on things." He shoots a backward look over at Gedreth who snorts softly.

Wendra says quietly "But not all of them *did* bypass the women."

L'ten shoots Wendra an irritated look - is she still here? - and actually addresses her, for once. "No, just most of them. Fourteen," he adds, like the older woman is unable to count that high. His attempt at attitude is spoiled by his inability to move that one foot, but he swivels back to face S'dric and folds his arms again. "Cr'pel's my weyrlingmaster, sir."

"Adria is the Weyrlingmaster," S'dric corrects L'ten mildly. "Geneve and Cr'pel assist." Pointing out the rank and file of the Weyr. "It's actually hard to say in general, what a dragon is going to prefer, long story short it has more to do with the fit of the two personalities. A dragon pairs with the mind that fits, regardless of what any of us might prefer."

Wendra says, "Most is not all, though. If they were only supposed to impress to men, there wouldn't *be* exceptions." Then she add, more softly, "I guess I really thought it was all right for women to impress greens, just not me."

L'ten says nothing, just sets his jaw again. He can't stay quiet forever, though: "So then why, if it's up to the dragon and all," and doesn't he sound disbelieving of that, despite the evidence to the contrary, "Do you hear everyone talking about how so-and-so is going to find a... a whatever? A brown, a blue, a green?"

"Why's that Wendra," S'dric asks curiously, arms folding across chest and he leans back a little, casually, feet planting a little further apart. L'ten's question earns a smirk. "That's like betting on whether or not the piebald mare's going to produce a cross or a solid, people think they know something about how things are going to shake out based on past experience." Beat. "Nature has a funny way sometimes of upending one's expectations."

Wendra considers this for a while before saying, "It's hard to say, After Geneve and all of those girls impressed that one time, it didn't seem quite so wrong. But it still seemed like it was something... well, just seemed wrong for me."

L'ten grunts an 'I hear you' at S'dric, nodding as well. "I guess," he graciously allows. Looking for an instant down at Sevuuth, he straightens his shoulders at the bronzerider again. "Sir, can I pick him up? If he's just gonna sleep I should try and nap too."

"Like I said. If he's honestly fatigued, L'ten," S'dric says gently and nods at the Weyrling. "Go on, go take him home and get some rest." Wendra draws a brief look and he rubs at his chin for a moment. "Kesida, Anesath's rider might be someone to talk to about that Wendra, but I'm afraid I need to excuse myself. I've wing reports to work on. A good day to you both." And with that, S'dric turns, with a pat for Gedreth, who leaps aloft after a moment and goes to curl up on his ledge in the winter sun.

Wendra nods. "I should be getting back as well in case Dulcieth awakens. Thank you for the advice, Wingleader."

"Yes, sir," Len says and hunkers awkwardly. His hands are, perhaps, more gentle than they could be, but he still makes short work of hoisting an utterly relaxed and droopy Sevuuth. The brown ends up across his chest and held there with one arm while the other collects the mostly empty bucket. He offers S'dric a stiff, "Farewell," turns and heads back into the barracks. Wendra gets a stiff little nod but no words, not even a smile from the dark-eyed brownrider.


The full log can be found in L'ten's Journal.